


No Question About It

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Heteronormativity, Interviews, M/M, Memories, Oblivious, Old Married Couple, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-31 07:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: LLSS prompt: "Dick and Lew have been a couple since the end of the war, pretty much married but keeping it quiet. When Ambrose interviews them in the '90s, he 100% fails to notice."





	No Question About It

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a funny idea that I had to pick it up and write. Also, cute. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect. In this universe there's also a historian who takes interest in Easy company and conducts interviews. He shall be called Steven.

Steven was excited for this project. His previous book on airborne infantry had been a success as well as a lot of work, and after all that he had thought he was done with the subject. Only he had been wrong, since after accidentally running into a reunion his interest had been completely captured again, and here he was.

He already had a good chunk of the Easy Company men’s anecdotes and stories, and based on those alone Steven knew he definitely wanted to work them into a proper historical publication, and it would feel all the more powerful with personal testimonies.

He just couldn’t quite believe that he was here, about to talk to those two men everyone had mentioned in pretty much every story with nothing short of absolute admiration and dedication. 

Major Winters wasn’t an easy man to get to know. Sure, he was polite and pleasant, but as someone trying to dig deeper Steven had quickly noticed that the man wouldn’t spill the beans to just anyone. They had so far talked only on the phone, but even like that Steven had gotten the feeling of being put in his place by a gentle yet strict grandfather whenever he tried to pry into things that apparently weren’t his business yet. 

But as time went on, Steven had slowly won the man’s trust and assured him he intended to do right by the men – that was the part Winters had been really concerned about: his men. And finally, Steven had managed to culminate enough trust to be invited here, into the man’s own home. 

The farmhouse was a thing Winters had been working on for many years as a side project and finally near retirement sold his house in the city and moved there permanently. Steven had driven two hours from the airport to get there, and by the time he turned his small rental car to the driveway the upcoming meeting had turned from distant to palpable. 

It was a forest green two-storey house with a large porch, surrounded by apple trees and garden roses, then vegetable patches and rows of corn, a small potato field and sunflowers. Years’ worth of hard work was evident in the garden, and it looked like it had gradually conquered more and more ground as the man tending to it had gotten more ambitious. 

Steven parked his car, gathered his research files, notebooks and tape recorder, walked up to the porch with it all and rang the doorbell.

A dog barked somewhere in the house. Steven could hear its paws on hardwood floors as the animal was the first one to get to the door, but only a moment later he heard a familiar voice ordering: “Tom! Basket!”, and then the door opened.

Winters had hunched down in his old age a bit but he was still tall, his hair was the colour of faded copper, the remains of once no doubt flaming red, and his pale blue eyes were clear and sharp behind his glasses. He was already smiling when he opened the door knowing whom to expect, and he gave Steven an evaluating once-over. “Hello, Steven. Nice to meet you in person, please come in,” he said and stepped aside. 

Steven smiled, excited and nervous, but in a good way. “Good day, Mr. Winters, thank you. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“Please, drop the formalities, this is my home and I’ll have none of that here,” Winters said, waving a hand. “Did you find your way here alright?”

Steven shook off his jacket and put it on a coat hanger. “Yes, thanks to your instructions. It was a drive, but the way was easy. You have a beautiful house.”

“Thank you. It’s been under a lot of work for a long time. Please, come to the kitchen, we’ll have coffee and something to eat.” 

Steven followed. The house was warm and cosy inside, carpets on the floor and curtains on the windows, and as he followed Winters down the hallway, he got a glance into a living-room with several overflowing bookcases, a plush couch with embroidered pillows, and a fireplace with two armchairs in front of it. 

When they passed the staircase to the second floor, Steven had a fright when Winters suddenly slammed his hand against the railing and called upstairs: “Lewis! Don’t be rude, we have a quest!”

Steven had been so busy being impressed with Winters that he had completely forgotten that Nixon lived with him too. He didn’t beat himself up too much about it since he had only spoken with Winters who had also invited him, while Nixon hadn’t spoken to him or agreed to be interviewed, a message that Winters had passed on to him. 

They continued down the hall to the kitchen, a huge space that had the dining room joined to it. Coffee was already brewing and the small kitchen table had been set for three.

“Please take a seat and do whatever you do with those things,” Winters told him while gesturing at his tape recorder and continued to the fridge. 

Steve spread out his notes, pens and paper and set up the recorder in the middle of coffee cups and dessert plates. On the other side of the table was apparently Winters’ place with a stack of photo albums and folders of other mementos next to his cup and plate, and Steven felt a tremor of excitement go through him. 

“Can I help you with any of that?” Steven asked, tearing his eyes from the stockpile of material.

Winters had piled up plates and trays from the fridge on the counter and was holding a plate of sandwiches and another of cookies, and now threw Steven an appreciative look, probably actually meant for his mother for installing manners to him. “Sure, if you want to. I’ll get the coffee. Also, there’s a pie in the oven.” 

Steven got up and carried plate after plate to the table. “This looks amazing, Major, but this is also way too much,” he said and actually meant it. There were cookies, cinnamon buns, little sandwiches, cupcakes, and apparently an apple pie still in the oven too.

“Nonsense,” Winters said, “and I meant it about the formalities. Just Dick is fine, especially since you plan to pry into my life.” 

“Oh, no, it’s just research, and anything you don’t want to disclose you can just say and I’ll –” Steven stopped abruptly when he looked at Winters, saw his smile and twinkling eyes and realized he was joking. Steven laughed nervously. “Yes, well. Casual, then.”

The coffee was ready, and Winters picked up the pot, brought it to the table and poured it into three cups. “Casual is the best way to go. I know this must seem like a big deal to you, but to me it’s just how things were. It was a job, and it was over forty years ago. It calls for little fanfare,” he said. 

Steven sat down and picked up his pen. He had to scribble that down to remember it later, since he knew fully well he himself couldn’t treat any of this as just a job or a casual thing no matter how much it was so to Winters. Steven also glanced at the third coffee cup for the other man living in the house, who had yet to show himself, but decided not to ask.

“So. What do you want to start with?” Winters asked, mixing milk and sugar into his coffee.

“Um… Anything you’d like. I’m planning on writing about everything from beginning to end without focusing on any single event or operation. I’d like the full picture. A personal testimony,” he said.

“Beginning, then,” Winters said, “that was in 1942.” 

Steven turned the tape-recorder on, and they started about paratrooper training. Winters talked generally about physical training and equipment, occasionally side-tracking to talk about his fellow soldiers, friends and acquaintances he had made, and Steven interjected only with specifying questions. 

The first real interruption came only when the egg timer went off.

“That would be the pie,” Winters said and got up. 

The smell of simmering apples, cinnamon and sugar spread into the kitchen as soon as he opened the oven door. 

Winters brought the pie to the table, set it down in the middle and tossed the oven mittens to the side. He supported himself on the edge of the table and lowered himself back into his chair.

“Now, where were we?” he asked. 

“Uh… You were telling me about utilizing airborne infantry in Operation Overlord,” Steven answered. Even despite his excitement he had gotten distracted by the pie. 

“Ah, yes. We were all qualified paratroopers at this point of course, we knew our function, but an actual campaign has so much more attributes to it and there’s no training for those. We didn’t know when or where we were going, or what our mission after landing would be, so – “ he paused suddenly, eyes turning to the door as a new kind of smile spread on his face, drawing the lines around his eyes deeper, “well look who decided to finally come down.”

Steven turned around just in time to see another elderly man entering the kitchen. 

“Yeah, don’t think too much about it. I’m here for the pie,” Lewis Nixon grunted, brown eyes narrowed at Winters as he came in. He had thinning silvery hair he had combed neatly back, heavy grey brows and white stubble covering his cheeks. He had a reserved look on his face, but he still nodded to Steven in acknowledgment before sitting down next to Winters.

“You should have come sooner. Your coffee must be cold at this point,” Winters said.

“Oh well, I’ll drink it anyway,” Nixon replied nonchalantly, already reaching for the steaming pie. “You know what the old maids say, cold coffee makes one more beautiful.”

Winters’ smile stretched into a grin as he watched his friend piling his plate with pie, then with cookies and cinnamon buns and a singular cupcake, “like you ever needed any help with that.” 

Nixon took a sip from his coffee cup and glanced at his side, clearly pacified. Wrinkles on his forehead and between his brows smoothed, and when he spoke to Steven he sounded considerably less bristled. 

“So, you’re here about the war? Has he ranted about our first CO to you yet? Because if you ask about him, you’ll get enough material for all your little tapes,” Nixon quipped to Steven while he mixed sugar into his black, lukewarm coffee.

“We talked about him some,” Steven said. Winters had let his feelings be known but hadn’t ranted per se, probably still holding back on that front, as it suddenly occurred to Steven. “Would you like to make a contribution?”

Nixon’s lined face was soft and his cheeks slightly droopy, but his brown eyes had a cutting look in them while he jerkily stirred his coffee. “No. Like I said, I’m here for the pie, and I’m not going to answer any questions. So you can turn that recorder off for as long as I’m here.”

“Certainly,” Steven said easily and did as he was asked to. Recording was a privilege that he hadn’t always enjoyed anyway, and he had a feeling that if he wanted anything out of Nixon it would be on the man’s own terms anyway.

Winters sighed at his friend’s attitude and shook his head but didn’t comment.

“We were just getting to D-Day,” he said.

Nixon snorted. “Oh great, the worst day of our lives.”

“It wasn’t the worst day, Nix.”

“You’re right, it was only the worst day of our lives so far. It got steadily worse from there.” 

“That’s not true,” Winters said, leaning closer to his friend, close enough to bump their shoulders together. He sounded comforting, gentle and warm in a way true friends apparently did after spending most of their lives together. “The next day was a good one. I saw you again, for starters.” 

Nixon visibly softened at that, gave Winters a yielding look and ceased with his comments, taking a bite of a cinnamon bun instead. “This is good,” he said with his mouth full.

Winters smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Anything for you.” 

Steven watched them from the other side of the table, pen and paper ready now that recording had been denied of him. What he could pick up on was that Winters and Nixon had been on separate planes during Operation Overlord and uncertain of each other’s fates for the entire night and most of the next day. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like, being sent on such a dangerous mission separately from your best friend and then not knowing if he was okay for so long.

“You didn’t see each other at all while in Normandy?” he asked.

Winters refocused on the subject again. “We did, but at that point the invasion was on the way and we were moving tanks to the beach.” He paused to think about something. “That was the only time during the war we were apart, right?”

Nixon had his mouth full of pie and he quirked his brows when Winters spoke to him. He nodded heavily, swallowed and smiled slightly. “Someone had to keep eye on you.”

Winters leaned back in his chair and gazed at Nixon proudly, a look that he favoured the most when he spoke of the men he had served with. “You did, didn’t you? You kept me sane,” he said warmly, then pointedly added: “Despite your best efforts on the contrary.”

Nixon accepted both the praise and the needling with a self-satisfied smirk and a quirk of one heavy eyebrow. “You love me and you know it.”

Winters scoffed and smacked Nixon on the arm with the back of his hand. “Just eat your treats and behave yourself, would you?”

Steven sensed a natural opening and seized the opportunity with a question: “What was your role there, Mr. Nixon?”

Nixon turned to him again and gained that same slightly grumpy seriousness he had entered the room with. “I was the S-3, the intelligence officer. I started as a platoon leader at Toccoa but was quickly transferred to the battalion HQ where I spent pretty much the rest of the war.”

Steven took notes. He already knew about Nixon’s job since he had already been praised by several other members of Easy he had already talked to, but personal testimonies where why he was here in the first place. “So you oversaw most of the operations?” 

“I oversaw all the operations,” Nixon corrected grimly and took a hefty bite out of a frosted cupcake, which somehow didn’t make his displeasure any less stingy. “I observed, listened, scouted and planned. I was always aware of everything that was going on around us and kept everyone up to speed.” 

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Steven said.

Nixon shrugged. “Sure.”

For a beat or two Steven waited for him to continue, but he was quickly realizing that Nixon wasn’t going to say a single thing more than necessary. Steven tried to not take it personally as Nixon wasn’t the only man who had refused to talk about the war, but it was starting to look like he really was there only for the various pastries.

He glanced at Winters who was taking slow sips from his coffee while keeping a subtle eye on his friend, completely undisturbed by his remarks. 

Steven tried to be tactful. “It sounds like there was a lot going on behind the scenes.” 

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Nixon’s jaw tightened and his upper lip twitched, baring a side of teeth for a moment before he averted his eyes. “I was in the line,” he said, almost snapping. “I might have been a drunk who never fired his weapon, but I was there with the rest of the troops. That’s the spot my work was done in, not in some nice, safe office miles away from the action.”

Steven took notes. He had to admit that being snapped at by a veteran of Easy Company and Major Winters’ best friend wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but he was starting to understand Nixon’s reasons for not talking about the war much. “May I quote you on that?” Steven asked.

Nixon snorted. “No!” he grunted, then seemed to mull it over some and added: “But make sure you get it right. I was there the whole time. I was in the line.”

“Of course,” Steven said.

Winters reached over to lay his hand on Nixon, whose tensed-up shoulders slumped under his touch. “It’s already there, Lew,” he soothed, hand rubbing his friend’s back. “You know that I think the world of you. You were always there for me, always by my side, reassuring and comforting me. Do you think I’d agree to talk to anyone about that time and let them leave you out?”

Nixon let out a deep sigh. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and just breathed for a while, then hunched forward and leaned on the table with his elbows, eventually turning his gaze to Winters, who never stopped rubbing his back. For a long moment they sat like that, completely silent and discoursing with their eyes alone.

Steven didn’t want to interrupt the moment. There was a deep intimacy between the men opposite from him, something deep and strong that they had built during their decades together, and despite being an outsider Steven felt the warmth of the bond.

“May I ask how long you two have lived together?” Steven asked.

The moment came to an end. Winters let his hand drop and both men leaned on their own seats again. 

“Since… 1946, I think?” Nixon answered but glanced at Winters for confirmation.

“Yes. We moved to New Jersey then,” Winters continued, “we lived there for less than a year though. Lew’s father discovered and disapproved of us, so we left, moved around a bit but finally settled down here in Pennsylvania.”

Steven nodded as he scribbled down notes. “And you stayed together the whole time?”

“Well…” Winters started, drawing the word out, “it wasn’t anything we decided or talked about. There just… Simply wasn’t any question about it. We both felt very strongly that we needed to be together, and that’s what we did.”

“We’ve always been together since -46,” Nixon added, “that’s forty-five years.”

Steven made a note of that. “It must be nice to be such good friends,” he said.

Nixon and Winters exchanged a look.

“Yep.”

“Sure.”

There was another natural pause, and once again Steven glanced at the pile of photo albums Winters had readied. He was absolutely dying to get a look at those, to put faces to names and make comparisons. Winters had also told him he had kept meticulous diaries, and things like that were an absolute goldmine to a historian. 

“Are those all the documents you have?” Steven asked, pointing at the stockpile with his pen.

Winters shook his head. “Oh, no, those are simply the photos I have. There’s a whole pile from the regimental photographer as well as photos the men have sent me, personal and from reunions and such. My diaries are not here.”

“May I take a look at those? That would be most helpful,” Steven asked.

“Yes, certainly,” Winters assured.

Next to him, Nixon had relaxed and shaken off the previous gloom. His brows quirked with new mischief and suddenly he grinned. “You have always been the archivist of us. With those glasses you’d make a fine librarian too, Mr. Winters.”

Winters gave Nixon a clearly warning look over the rim of his glasses, but Nixon just smirked back at him. “Yeah, keep that up. See where we end up,” he teased, and Winters gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. 

“You didn’t keep any mementos or souvenirs, Mr. Nixon?” Steven asked.

Nixon shook his head. “Nah. I got rid of pretty much everything a long time ago. I got rid of my uniform and everything pretty soon after I was discharged too.” He got a wicked look in his eyes again. “But what I do have are my letters, from that time and after too. They take up several shoe boxes, but maybe I should bring those down and read some. He might not talk much but you’d be surprised by some of the stuff my darling soldier boy here could – “ 

“Nix!” Winters cried out, snatched an oven mitten from the table and swatted Nixon with it.

Steven focused on his notebook to hide his smile. He could only hope to be such good friends with someone someday.


End file.
